


Ghosts & Dragons

by LunaStellaCat



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-22
Updated: 2017-08-22
Packaged: 2018-12-18 13:00:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,547
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11875032
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LunaStellaCat/pseuds/LunaStellaCat
Summary: Lyall Lupin meets a stranger.Written for the Inter-House Friendship Challenge on HPFT.





	Ghosts & Dragons

He ran into this man on the street. People said things like this all the time, and Newt Scamander was painfully aware of this, too, whenever they went back and compared notes. But, no, Lyall actually mowed down the renowned magi-zoologist in the streets in 1966. Or was it 1967? It was definitely 1960 something because Lyall remembered getting pickpocketed by a Muggle teenager and taking chase into the consignment shop in the dodgy part of town. Lyall got his stuff back because it turned out the kid was dumb, of the really stupid variety, and Lyall stumbled upon his solution.

“I am not robbing you.” The weak defense came out before he thought about his words. 

Lyall thanked the proprietor, slipped the trinket inside his robes, and played this back through his mind. He pointed at the window, but the thief had already run off. Lyall said this because this would’ve been the first logical thought to enter his mind if the roles had been reversed and he’d been the one standing behind the counter. Reaching swiftly behind his back, Lyall reached over and grabbed his boy’s arm without looking away, and after paying with whatever Muggle money he had left, he bought a Slinky and covered up his tracks like a sad, sorry man. 

“It’s on loan,” said Lyall, leaving out the part about the jewelry, an amethyst pendant, belonged to the deceased. The shopkeeper took his money and deposited it into a till. Not for the first time in his life, Lyall was glad he’d married a Muggle woman, an insurance agent, who reminded him of the small stuff: never leave the house without carrying money, Muggle or magical, and always have a book to read when you’re stuck in the middle of nowhere. As they stepped outside, Lyall checked on the old man in the overcoat and jeans. “I am so sorry. There was this kid …Remus, what’re you pointing at?”

Lyall, distracted by his small boy, completely disregarded the apology. The old man smiled. A moment later, a creature, a white ape-like creature, materialized around the man’s shoulder. It clung on, but its movements were slow and deliberate. The man, introducing himself as Newt, reached in his pocket and and handed the invisible monkey a wafer. Lyall followed its baleful eyes. 

Lyall blinked and the ape shimmered into nothing. “Okay, I’m tired, and I’m seeing things.”

“Oh, him? That’s my Demiguise. Dougal.” Newt took another plain wafer out of his coat, tossed it in the air, and the Demiguise materialized long enough to snatch it. “Yeah, the little thief tried to rob me, too.” 

“Whoa. Let’s go back to the invisible monkey.” Lyall raised his hand and put the man on pause. Remus laughed. Lyall considered his words carefully, for he actually had to stop himself from asking where to get one of those. Throwing caution to the winds, even though he knew his wife, Hope, wouldn't like it, he asked anyway as they walked along with the man. “Can I get one of those at the Magical Menagerie, Mr. Scamander?”

“A Demiguise? No, no.” Newt put his handing his pocket and handed Remus a wafer. He introduced himself and added after a moment he was the nobody who wrote Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them when Lyall registered nothing. “And if you don’t know what that is, I’m afraid you slept through courses at school.”

“You’re Mr. Scamander?” They shook hands and went on with a proper introduction. Of course, Lyall felt stupid the man had said it before and he’d missed it. “It’s rare you actually get to meet an author.” 

“And nearly kill him, yeah, I know,” said Newt lightly. He must have gotten this a lot. He smiled when Remus said he read that book. Instead of writing the kid off, Newt raised his eyebrows. “What’s your favorite?” 

“Runespoor,” piped up Remus, after thinking for a minute or two. “I like when they get rid of one of the snake heads.”

“Oh, when you get married, that’s going to carry so much more meaning. Especially if your wife has a chatty American sister.” Newt stopped, did a double take and read Remus’s confused expression. Lyall fought a smile.and handed Remus the toy. “Forget I said that. The best thing to do when you find a thief? Pin it against another thief. If you can't steal and steal like your life depends on it, find a burglar nobody in their right mind would expect.” 

Lyall took this little nugget and stored it away for future use. Old people came along like wells of knowledge, and it had taken a lot time for him to cotton onto this. Lyall made a conscious effort to keep an eye on his ignorance. As an authority on Spiritous Apparitions, he had climbed the ranks alone and never stopped learning. The most surprising moments, if fact the most helpful ones at the end of the day, came whenever he got proven wrong. 

“That trinket you carry? George Dawson needs you to cast it in the fire to get on with his life,” said Newt. He pointed at the small house along the way. 

“You know Dawson?” Not wanting to lose the man nor his lead, Lyall picked up Remus and picked up the pace. He corrected the tense here because they were talking about a man who had died in his home. “You knew Dawson?”

“No. But I know of his story, and I travel here all the time in search of things.” Newt changed his shoes to boots and entered a stable without invitation. Lyall, thinking he didn't want to trespass, seriously debated leaving the old man here and going about his way, yet he seriously wondered if the man had anything. Newt scuttled over to a stable, sidestepped manure, and gestured at Lyall to follow. “My guess is you’re not from Dorset either. And you work alone if you're carting around a kid. Who brings their child to work?”

Lyall guessed Newt Scamander either wanted to steal eggs for breakfast time, or the old man was onto something. Newt dropped to his knees, nibble for an old man, and went scavenging for something in the stable. Lyall almost called after him. but he stopped because he didn't want to get caught. Remus got free and went after the man. Lyall. worried at this point, imagining himself held up in some Muggle jail and Hope bailing him out, stayed where he was. Minutes later, Newt came out carrying two scruffy creatures by the neck; they had rough hair. 

“Porlocks. Dougal, you’ve done this enough today.” Newt magicked clean straw with his wand and plopped the creatures down. He did not cage them. The Demiguise, accepting defeat, slunk off like an old man and wondered over to Remus, and Remus took any offer of friendship. The ape stuck like glue to Lyall’s son, but Remus simply sat down Indian-style and held the Demiguise like a small child. Newt conjured a sketchpad, quill, and ink, and carried on the conversation. He held his wand between his teeth and examined the Porlock as it stood on its two legs in his hand. “Why would you want to visit a haunted house?”

“It’s not haunted,” said Lyall, falling back on his usual correction. “They just happen to be dwellings that are shared with humans. If you live with a phantom or a ghost, you’re actually not in a bind. If they are friendly, that is, if not … your life might get interesting.” 

Newt actually threw his head back and laughed. One of the Porlocks. wary of humans, started to scamper off, but he caught it in between his weathered fingers. “Damn arthritis. Old age catches up with you and it’s not pretty.”

“I talk too much,” said Lyall quietly. 

“No. You’re a weirdo, too. That’s refreshing.” Newt shifted a little and made a nest for his Porlock in the straw before he continued with his drawing. Turning to face Lyall, he smiled and made a quick sketch of the horse guardians before they dashed off to safety in the stables and under cover. Newt scratched his chin and scrutinized his drawing as Remus played with his toy. Newt sucked the blood from his finger and thanked Lyall for bandaging it with a quick spell. He scribbled notes on his sketch and consulted a patched edition of his book as he adjusted his spectacles on his nose. “I didn't mean to insult you, sir. My wife, Tina, says I need to think before I speak. My son? He wouldn't be caught with me and a ten foot broomstick.” 

Remus ended up playing a game of one-sided tug-of-war with the Muggle toy with the Demiguise and lost. He almost landed in manure. 

“That was almost unfortunate. Dougal.” Newt turned to his Demiguise and addressed it like a small child. “We’ve been friends for a long time, haven’t we? Settle down.” 

The Demiguise batted the air with his arm and scooted over to a corner of an abandoned farm building to sit in a corner. Lyall smiled, bemused. Remus, thinking he found a friend followed Dougal, stayed with him. Lyall waited patiently for Newt to finish his work. 

“My son’s called Francis. Frank. He’s an ass. I do not claim that mistake because I can’t tell you where I went wrong there. Got a daughter. Abigail’s okay.” Newt shrugged off his comments when Lyall laughed. Newt took a pipe and a stash of tobacco out of his jeans pocket and lit a smoke. The man seemed to notice he wasn’t doting over his children and retreated back into his head. Lyall, who spent a lot of time trapped in his head, didn’t mind. Newt came back eventually and jabbed a finger at the stables. “I’m trespassing. Maybe my wife will help me, if she feels like it.” 

“What does she do?” Lyall liked this man and his down-to-earth attitude instantly. 

“She used to be an Auror in New York. I wonder what she’d say if they offered me back to her while I was locked up. ‘Hell, no.’” Newt wiped his hands on his trousers and took Lyall’s offered hand. He turned his head, chuckling with Lyall, and called for Remus. “Remus, bring Dougal with you, please, sir.”

They left the farm together and walked towards the so-called haunted house. Newt, Lyall noticed, wore a tattered old Hufflepuff scarf with his old coat, and the old man held his own against a rickety staircase. The Demiguise held Remus’s hand; they walked between Newt and Lyall. Lyall had his own bag of tricks when it came to inspecting old properties. He spent the night at strange places a lot, so his survival kit included a bed roll, snacks, and matches, among other things. Even though Hope understood she was married to a wizard, she lived by her matches and her money. 

“Mr. Scamander.” Remus stopped before he crossed the threshold into the kitchen. He turned his head left and right, like a child crossing the road. “You have to wait.” 

“It’s daylight, Remus. I don’t think Dawson’s here.” Lyall lit one of the gas burners with a match and tossed the spent thing in a wastebasket. He shrugged off his rucksack, took out a tea kettle and mugs, and made tea. Newt peeled back the aged yellow wallpaper with his fingernail, bored, and knocked on the countertop. Lyall murdered a spider with the kettle, slouching a little water. “Sorry. Mr. Scamander.” 

“Newt, please,” he said, distracted with his task. He pulled off a strip and threw it onto the floor. He examined the letters in a scrawled hand. “Ever seen a ghost, Remus?”

“Yes, sir.” Remus grew up around this environment. Since the accident, Lyall didn't allow him around children, but the boy saw a lot that would make both magical and Muggle children have nightmares. “Have you ever seen one?”

“Not for a long time. This one left a message on the wall. Lyall?” Newt ducked as the cupboard opened and knives shot out of the wooden block. Newt grabbed Remus and hit the deck. A knife quivered in the wall, landing where Newt’s head had been seconds before. They straightened up a few minutes later. Lyall jotted down the message and placed the wallpaper back carefully. “Never a dull day for you, is it?” 

“No. Remus, are you all right?” Lyall knelt and picked up his boy. 

“Yeah.” Remus acted like nothing happened. “Where’s Dougal?” 

Newt found the Demiguise in the upper cupboard, curled up like a cat.Deciding he’d coax it out later, Newt poured tea and shared a story about a Nundu. Lyall paced the kitchen, thinking hard about Dawson’s message. Why would a spirit ask for light? 

“I’ve never slept in a haunted house before,” said Newt conversationally. He conjured a taper and followed them upstairs to the bedrooms. Lyall’s and Remus’s bed rolls lay in the large master bedroom with the large windows. 

“Would you like to?” Lyall raised an eyebrow, hoping the man wouldn't run away screaming.

Lyall usually slept alone in abandoned houses with nobody for company, and while he liked the quiet, Lyall needed company like anyone else. He dragged Remus around the country, but there were times when Remus couldn't travel; Lyall put his foot down the moment Remus showed the slightest sign of illness or recovered from what they called his spells. Remus went over to his bed and opened one of his rucksacks so he could pack away his Slinky. 

“There’s a room across the corridor.” Lyall beamed at Newt. “I was going to tell ghost stories in the sitting room.”

“Your childhood. I’m jealous of it.” Newt patted Remus’s hair and went to dump his things in the other room. They spent some time apart and got lost in their tasks. Newt made breakfast for dinner and played Gobstones with Remus by the fire in the sitting room to kill time. Despite the fact the old man had labeled his son as a disappointment or a lost cause, Lyall noticed, he was rather good with children. The old inhabitants had left a couch and a couple forgotten armchairs. Newt wiped the slime off his face and conceded defeat. “It helps if you talk yourself through it, Lyall.”

“Does it?” Lyall heaved a couple logs unto the fire and put his hands behind his back. “A kitchen hand comes home in 1930, and he goes to sleep. And he dies. But he stays. Why?”

Newt walked with Lyall through the house. Remus stayed in the sitting room. They didn't say anything for the longest time, yet Lyall battled with himself inside his head. Newt tapped each doorknob, which Lyall as obsessive behavior, but it might have been a superstitious thing. Lyall went back into the kitchen after night fell and stood in front of the locked door with two doorknobs. 

“This won’t open.” Lyall tried a quick non-verbal spell to demonstrate unnecessarily. Newt coaxed the Demiguise out of the cupboard and opened the stubborn door by slamming his shoulder against it. It was a small cupboard; there wasn't enough space for a grown man. On the wall, enchanted chains rattled if they approached them. Only one of them could be in the confined space at one time. Newt closed the door behind himself when it was his turn, and this cursed Lyall to panic because he didn't want a famous old man dying on his watch. 

“Mr. Scamander,” said Lyall uneasily, not liking this idea. 

“He wasn't trying to get out,” said Newt slowly, coming out a moment later with a folded sheaf of parchment. Lyall recognized it as a lunar chart. “He missed work. He was a werewolf.”

Lyall paled, Remus’s face swimming into his thoughts. He crumpled onto the floor, devastated. Newt laid down the clues. A kitchen hand, a skilled cook, wouldn't have abstained from food unless he wished to, Even with the most basic ingredients, a chef or cook could have made a good meal. 

“I’m guessing he had no powdered silver or dittany to seal the bite,” said Newt, touching the wallpaper and talking himself through the situation. He muttered something about the Werewolf Registry, although Lyall didn't catch it. 

“I’m sorry?” Lyall wanted to hear this and he didn't want to hear it at the same time. 

“I created the Werewolf Registry in 1947,” said Newt, claiming responsibility. He didn't miss the shadow that passed over Lyall’s face. He knelt by him. Lyall shrank away from he as if the old man had struck him, although the old man hadn't raised a hand. They said nothing for a some time. “In order for you to understand a creature, you forget yourself to get on their level.” 

“I don’t… I don’t want to talk about this.” Lyall drowned in his fear. What if Mr. Scamander carted him off or threatened to take his son away? 

“What House were you in at Hogwarts?” Newt kept things light, conversational. 

“Gryffindor.” 

“You’re brave. Not me. Not really.” Newt shrugged, reminding Lyall of a shy boy. “You’re alone, but you’re not one of them. You’re terrified.” 

“Please.” Lyall hated the desperation in his tone. 

“It’s not Dawson you fear. It’s you. Dawson kept people away … he starved himself.” Newt cleared his throat and closed his eyes. “How old is your son?”

“No.” Lyall shook his head vehemently. “I won't sign the Registry.” 

“I suddenly wish it never occurred to me,” said Newt, getting slowly to his feet. He took his time with a smoke. He’d pieced it together. “Are you a religious man?”

“Catholic,” said Lyall, confused. “Why? Why does that matter?”

“It matters to you.” Newt patted him on his knee and got to his feet as he creaked. Remus stood in the doorway and asked about dessert and a promised ghost story. Newt cleared his throat, nodded at Lyall. He conjured some ingredients and suggested a chocolate cake. “I think I might want to live here with Dawson. I’ll have to see what the wife says, but Dorset might be a nice place to hang your traveling cloak.” 

Flour and sugar appeared out of nowhere. Neither of the wizards raised their wands to make this happen. Lyall heaved a relieved sigh. “Thanks, Dawson. He’s weird.” 

Newt caught the wooden spatula that swung towards his head. Remus and Lyall watched the old man flour a baking pan and go through the motions. The unseen houseguest, Mr. Dawson, iced the cake after it baked itself in midair and cooled down. There was also a tub of homemade strawberry ice cream when they went back into the kitchen. Newt washed the dishes by hand, as Lyall handled dessert. Remus, laughing his head off, played some unseen game with Dougal in the sitting room. 

“Mr. Lupin, I’m not a religious man, but I know a Catholic man needs to forgive himself. Maybe not today. But someday. Everyone deserves a second chance. Give up the ghost one day.” Newt clapped his hand on Lyall’s shoulder and flashed his teeth. “And people need friends. I like you, Lyall. You’re my friend.”

Lyall nodded, wiping something out of his eye; he decided to keep the amethyst pendant. They filled three bowls with cake and ice cream, and Newt handed the Demiguise a bowl of ice cream. Dougal appeared, set the spoon on the floor, and scooped it out. Remus, licking his fork, laughed with his whole body when the Demiguise’s amber irises dilated. Lyall. feeling strange, got Dougal seconds. 

“Ice cream for an invisible monkey,” said Lyall, handing the Demiguise the bowl and a clean spoon. “We’re civilized here. This doesn't make sense.”

The Demiguise cuddled next to Remus when story time started. Newt, half-listening, drafted about his Porlocks, Lyall thought about his options and laughed when Newt Scamander said he didn't feel comfortable scaring a boy. Lyall, an only child, swore he found his elder, long lost brother. Thinking of the time he visited Lady Catriona at Leap Castle, who had died in 1521, Lyall touched his fingertips together and started telling a story as he adopted a narrative tone. 

 

In late November 1997, Lyall received an owl from a young man stationed in Romania. He’d expected it, honestly, though things were technically on what Rolf Scamander called this “hush hush”, and Lyall kind of expected something to happen. Were they supposed to ignore Newt Scamander’s hundredth birthday and treat it like any other day? Newt insisted on no fuss, but Lyall guessed this request would get declined. 

Lyall Apparated into an abandoned field and guessed he’d gotten his instructions wrong. It was four in the morning, an early morning, and he felt somewhat bad about getting his daughter-in-law out of bed because this thing got thrown together at the last minute. He didn’t really know Nymphadora Tonks, and it was what it was with Remus; Remus hadn’t really spoken to him much last year since Lyall had sat him down and they’d talked about Fenrir Greyback. Lyall deserved the silent treatment, though he wondered whether he and his son could repair the damage. 

“Newt Scamander knows,” said Remus, breathing sharply through his nose as Lyall laid out blankets and checked the charmed thermoses in a rucksack. Remus had actually followed his father to two assignments and not given him more than a hello and a goodbye. Whilst Lyall understood the why, it wore on his nerves and his patience. “Does his grandson?”

“I don’t know.” Lyall left the matchbook in the rucksack and searched the dark skies. 

“Remus,” said Nymphadora, letting Lyall help her sit down. “Will you drop it?”

“You drop it.” Remus paced the field and passed a hand over his face. He was patient with his wife and his mother-in-law, though Lyall suspected Remus didn’t like Andromeda much, yet he stayed wrapped in a tense, passive-aggressive battle of wills with Lyall. 

“If it helps any, I know Rolf Scamander, and all he cares about is food. You’re a werewolf? He considers ice cream a friend.” Nymphadora glimpsed the skies, sharing a smile with Lyall. She lit lanterns with a touch of her wand. “He gets it. You think your life’s messed up?” 

Remus knelt on the ground. “I don’t know why I’m here.”

“Leave.” Nymphadora, impatient with him, laid back on the blankets and placed her hands behind her head. Remus grumbled under his breath and pushed her over the edge. Nymphadora whipped her head around so fact Lyall thought something was wrong. “You got injured and your father was right there. You’re a werewolf! Who gives a damn? Rolf? He got thrown away, literally tossed in a dumpster by his junkie mother in New York City on Christmas Day.” 

“Nymphadora,” said Remus, dismissing this story with a wave of his hand. 

“No. You’ve got problems? You don’t walk away from me when I’m talking to you.” Nymphadora took off her shoe and tossed it at him. Lyall found this comical, especially when she knocked over a thermos and missed by a long shot. “Rolf died in his grandfather’s arms over and over again at this hospital, which you’ll never hear about in the papers. But he was strung on these substances for days. And Mr. Scamander, like your father, went through hell to get Rolf a normal life. I don’t pity you. If you can be half the man …” 

Her words got drowned out by a distant rumble. As the sound got closer, Remus edged towards Nymphadora. Lyall forgot the mess, though he was in the know, at least on part of the day. As the shapes got closer, a thin, stooped old man Apparated a short distance off. The creatures blacked out the already dark sky. As the sun started to wake up, a pair of large dragons, dark creatures with ridges along their backs, landed onto the grass. Remus, speechless, backed off. Though he stayed at a safe distance, the dragons took Lyall’s breath away. The beasts curled up like large, cuddly kittens, and one of them kept its purple eyes on Remus. 

The riders, one stocky and red-haired, the other dark-skinned and built like a brick wall, dismounted. The first one, who Lyall didn’t know, introduced himself as Charlie Weasley and grabbed control of a harness. He handled his dragon, laughed at something Rolf said in a foreign tongue, and gave Nymphadora a one-armed hug. When Rolf got his turn, he lifted her bodily off the ground. 

“Oh. my God, he lives! Send an owl, Scamander, what the hell?” Nymphadora struck him and waved her hand when she accidentally hurt herself. 

“He’s a busy, rich boy, this one,” said Charlie, shaking hands with Remus and Lyall. “Tell her where you went yesterday, Scamander.”

“Yesterday? Just yesterday? I woke up in Lima, went to some remote place in Chile nobody’s ever heard of, went to New York City, and went back to Romania to hang out with Charlie.” Rolf laughed at the shock on Nymphadora’s face and went to chase down his grandfather. 

“They are so cute,” said Nymphadora, crossing her arms and grinning at Charlie as he draped an arm over her shoulder. Rolf caught Newt when he stumbled, and the two of them, although it was difficult to hear at this distance, picked up where they had left off, even though they hadn’t seen each other in ages. 

“Scamander and Grandpa? Yeah.” Charlie cupped his hands around his mouth and shouted at Newt and Rolf as they approached at a snail’s pace. “Happy birthday, Grandpa!”

Newt, pretending not to hear, shouted at Charlie to speak up. When they got together, Newt greeted everyone and asked for a coffee. 

“Here.” Lyall poured him some in an insulated cup. “Are you old yet?”

“Yeah, I think we’re there. I said not to do anything.” Newt fixed his coat around himself and gestured at the dragons, Hebridean Blacks, and sipped his coffee. He grumbled until Charlie conjured a pastry box from some New York bakery. Newt, excited, approached the sleeping Hebridean Black, stroked its snout, and helped himself to two pastries. “Ooooh, cannoli. You’re forgiven.” 

Charlie took this as a shot. “Favorite grandson?”

Newt gave a non-committal shrug. 

“Really, Charlie, really?” Nymphadora sat next to Charlie on the damp blanket. “You’re not even blood.”

“Standing right here.” Rolf pointed at himself. Newt said nothing, which seemed to annoy his grandson. “Oh. I’m the errand boy.” 

“Scamander, so pretty, so smart.” Charlie helped himself to a cannoli and a half-empty thermos. Rolf sat next to Lyall. Nymphadora started laughing silently, and it got worse when Charlie mirrored her. 

Remus, setting his problems aside, explained to his father that Nymphadora, Rolf, and Charlie were old school friends. 

“See. This is the problem having Hufflepuffs as friends. Rolf ate like he planned on hibernation.” Charlie stopped when Nymphadora gasped for air. “Are you all right? He’s fat. It’s known. Whatever.”

“Breathe,” said Remus, strolling away from the dragons and kneeling by Nymphadora. He checked Rolf out. “You’re not fat.” 

“Not anymore.” Rolf, completely comfortable in his own skin, tended to the dragons like he was on location at a reservation or a sanctuary. He looked up when Nymphadora asked if it was hard to find ice cream in Romania or Peru. Charlie answered her with a high-five and choked on his cannoli. “No. It’s ice cream. You can find ice cream anywhere. Are we having ice cream and cake?” 

“Please, somebody, for the love of Merlin, find this man some ice cream,” said Nymphadora, checking for watch as the sun got higher. “Five in the morning. He needs it.”

“I needs it. Yessss,” said Rolf, releasing the dragons to haunt after cattle and sheep. 

“What’s your favorite?” Lyall refilled Newt’s cup. 

“Oh, there’s this honey lavender ice cream in … somewhere.” Rolf snapped his fingers at Charlie, trying to jog his memory. “The gypsy at hospital.” 

“Deva. Yeah, Scamander got spoonfed by some beautiful girl when some Hungarian Horntail turned him into a human torch.” Charlie nudged Nymphadora and snickered with her. “He almost got some.”

“Scamander,” said Nymphadora, impressed. “Are we breaking the bromance?”

“Charlie’s sleeping with her,” said Rolf, shrugging it off. 

“Yes, Charlie is.” Charlie raised his hands to the sky. 

“Your best friend’s lying there dying of severe burns,” said Nymphadora, pointing at Rolf, “and you’re getting a date. With a girl.” 

“Extremely attractive Romanian gypsy who serves the Heartstrings Sanctuary, thank you very much,” clarified Charlie. 

“You’re worth money. Lots of it. You speak three languages,” said Nymphadora, waving her hand in Rolf’s direction. “Your face graces magazines. What’s the problem, Newton? Have you met yourself?” 

“You’re married, Dora,” Remus reminded her quietly. 

“Yeah, not for me.” Nymphadora patted Remus on the knee. She turned to Rolf. “I’m not trying to make you feel uncomfortable. I don’t get it.” 

“Yeah.” Rolf shuffled his feet, obviously uncomfortable. Remus asked how much he worked, which Lyall thought took as a nice gesture of giving him an out. Rolf shrugged, not taking Nymphadora’s comments as criticism. “Twelve or thirteen hours a day? I don’t know … I just … it doesn’t stop. Not that that’s a problem. I do stuff.”

“Yeah, Scamander, you kidnap freaking dragons, which is awesome,” said Nymphadora, waving at the giant lizard-like creatures in the field. A stripped, burning sheep carcass landed feet away from them. She lowered her voice, clearly not making her point. 

“Whoa, whoa, on the kidnapping charge. This is … they are our charges. No jail. Let’s leave that out of the conversation because they are visiting Mr. Scamander.” Charlie raised his hands in defense and went to go tend the dragons when they simmered down. Newt followed him and waved at Lyall to come along. Charlie made a show of shaking his head sadly and grumbled like an old lady as he walked away. “I’m not trying to sent to jail by an Auror, so you pretend you never saw any of this.”

“They’re thirty feet long, but okay,” said Nymphadora. 

“Man. Control your wife, Remus. That’s why you didn’t get a wedding gift.” Charlie pointed at Nymphadora and nodded solemnly at Remus. He reached within a harness and tossed Remus an old rucksack. “I’m kidding. This is old cookware from Romania.”

“Thank you,” said Remus, stackin he pots and pans. “You cook?”

“His wife does,” said Nymphadora cheerfully, clapping Rolf on the back. She exchanged a look with Charlie. Charlie burst out laughing as he helped Newt and and Lyall onto a dragon. “Bromance still going strong then? No, seriously, Charlie, he needs a wife, and we can’t leave him alone.” 

“I didn’t marry Tina until I was thirty-something. I’m old. I can’t remember.” Newt sat up front, comfortable although he hadn’t been astride a dragon for a while. Lyall, his teeth chattering as he shook in his bones, asked to be taken off as he really, really didn’t want to do this. Newt, smiling slightly, let go of the dragon’s scales and patted Lyall awkwardly. “No, no, you are my source of entertainment today, Mr. Lupin.” 

“That’s what I’m afraid of.” Lyall quietly accepted his fate. 

After thirty years of a close friendship with this man, Lyall pretty much expected to get roped into crazy schemes, and a lot of it honestly wasn't so bad because he got introduced to new things, and Mr. Scamander didn't believe in a dull day. The magi-zoologist had been retired since 1990. Lyall believed the man didn't know what a quiet retirement was. 

Charlie and Rolf got on the other dragon. Lyall didn't bother to turn his head to see Remus laughing as they put the old men to shame. Newt might’ve done this back in the day; he claimed he manned Ukrainian Ironbellies in the First World War, which Lyall couldn't even imagine, yet old age caught up with him. Charlie and Rolf acted like this was nothing. It probably wasn’t. 

“I really want to be on the ground.” Lyall raised his voice as the beast beat its massive wings and prepared to take flight. Newt learned from Rolf their dragon, a female, was called Claire. “Great. Give the great, fire-breathing dragon a name! Yes. Wait. Aren’t females more ferocious.”

“Yes. You did read my book. I’m flattered.” Newt shifted his position as Claire lifted off the ground and followed Charlie and Rolf’s dragon. Lyall locked the old man in a death grip, frightened he’d crack his ribs. 

“I know it’s your birthday, Newt, and you’re my best mate,” said Lyall, burying his face in Newt’s shoulder. “But I hate you. You have a death wish.”

Newt’s body shook with laughter. He kicked Claire, making her turn and change course, and he told Lyall to take a deep breath and open his eyes. Lyall did. The wingspan startled him before he found it oddly comforting. Charlie, showing off, pointed at a nearby herd of deer as their stronger dragon took chase. Lyall spotted Nymphadora and Remus on the ground, mere specks, and he decided to sit back and enjoy the ride. They really weren't the worst things in the world. Dragons.

**Author's Note:**

> So, I wrote this one for the fellow weirdos, and I really wanted Newt Scamander to get on the back of a dragon. In my mind, Charlie Weasley and Rolf Scamander are friends because of that Daily Prophet thing. 
> 
> Liked it? Let me know what you thought.


End file.
